As Hope walked through the gangway door, she spotted her dad standing there all alone. Forcing an empty smile, she knew that this meant her mother was still angry with her, and that Michael was also making a statement by his absence. She could always count on her dad to be there for her, and she did not want to make this harder on him than her mother already had so, as usual, Hope stuffed her disappointment, smiled, gave her dad a quick hug and pretended everything was just fine.
Feeling like she had a foot in each world, Hope found herself unwilling to share all the wonderful things she had experienced in Atlanta, at least not just yet. Wanting to protect her dad from feeling hurt, she decided not to mention getting to know about her birth father or his mother. The chitchat on the ride home was restricted to the weather, always a safe topic, and what a difference there is between the traffic in Los Angeles and Atlanta. For guys, sports are always a safe subject, but since neither she, nor her father, cared much for sports, that was never a conversational path for them.
Westbound red-eyes are always hard on the body so Hope went straight to bed when she got home, determined to sleep well into the early afternoon. This way she could avoid her mother for at least one more day. She hated feeling this way about her mother, but as long as she continued to be Mrs. Gundersol’s lackey, the less she shared with her, the better.
Hope set her alarm for three o’clock, climbed into bed, and wondered if Michael would even show up tonight. She came back early just so she could accompany him to some big fund raiser, but that would not matter to him; teaching her not to disappoint him was always much more important to him these days. Just before drifting off to sleep, Hope remembered the study-guide from Mrs. Bascom, but sleep quickly overtook her and the study-guide would just have to wait for another day.
By five o’clock Hope was up, showered, dressed, and waiting for Michael. If he was coming, he would be here any minute. Walking into the living room, Hope sat in the wingback chair beside the front window so she could see his car turn into the driveway. She could hear her mother in the kitchen and knew she should go in and break the long silence that was building up between them, but thought, “Tonight is going to be hard enough. Forgiving Michael for how he treats me is more than I can handle; having to give in to my mother for never defending me against Mrs. Gundersol is too much to ask of me right now.”
The loud clicking of the mantle clock had begun to wear on Hope’s nerves. Suddenly she spotted his red convertible turning into the driveway. She watched him slip out of the car, check his hair in the side mirror, slam the driver’s door, and swagger toward the front porch. Studying this man she had agreed to spend the rest of her life with, she wondered what she had ever seen in him. Sure, he was handsome and dressed well. He certainly knew how to enjoy spending money he had never earned himself. He could take her places and introduce her to well-connected people she would never meet otherwise; but none of that mattered to her. What, if anything, had drawn her to him? Could she think of one thing there was to love about this man who was now standing at her door, waiting for her to answer his demanding knock?
Forcing a friendly smile on her face, Hope took a deep breath, opened the front door and invited Michael into the house. “Good evening, won’t you come in?”
Michael planted an uneventful peck on her cheek as he quickly slid past her, nothing a man in love would plant on his soon-to-be bride—if things between them were good. Obviously still angry that she went East for Christmas, Hope knew this was going to be one of their difficult nights, one of many they have had these days. “May I offer you something to drink or do we need to get going?”
“We have time, Hope,” barked Michael with that demeaning manner she always associated with his scoldings. “I will take a Scotch and water—easy on the water. Tonight’s fund raiser is going to be long and tedious for me.”
As Hope went over to her father’s liquor cabinet, she thought to herself, “Tedious for you? What about for me?” Pouring his drink, she wondered, “How long will it take you to make any personal comment to me about me? There have been many nights that I have gone all evening without one single comment directed to me, apart from corrections or instructions from you.” Checking her reflection in the mirror above the liquor cabinet, Hope made sure her thoughts were not obvious on her face, then turned with a smile, handed Michael his drink, and asked, “So, did you have fun skiing up at Mammoth? I saw in the paper that you had almost seven inches of new snow. That must have made your trip fun.”
“I had a great time up there. I didn’t realize how tired I was with all these boring public events my parents keep scheduling for me. I was able to avoid the press and had ten whole days to myself. It actually felt good to be just a person on vacation.”
Hope waited for just one question about how her holiday had gone, but instinctively and regrettably knew there would be no questions. Whenever he was displeased with her, he gave her the silent treatment. She had observed his mother use this technique on him enough times to recognize it in him. Hope struggled for something safe to say. “So, how many people do you think will be there tonight?” As she waited for his answer, Hope longed to be sitting at the Thomas’ table, laughing with Ben and Harry, or sitting in the family room talking about something interesting with Scott and Susan, or even sitting on the floor beside Benny, watching the little kids. Actually, Hope wished to be almost anywhere but here with him when she heard him answer, “Tonight is my mother’s kind of gathering. She has invited about three dozen big-time contributors to a sit down dinner at the Marriott downtown. I hate these things. I would rather have a casual, open bar and appetizers kind of gathering, one I can slide in, make an appearance, and duck out. They are much easier on me than a sit down, but my mother never listens to my opinions.”
Hearing him describe this gathering, Hope realized that her mother and father would not be invited to this kind of event. They were not big-time contributors and would not fit in well. Mrs. Gundersol was nothing, if not acutely savvy. Political connections were her stock in trade and she knew how to use them. Knowing this about her, it was always a puzzle to her that Mrs. Gundersol was so keen on pushing this wedding forward. Staring over at this man she really hardly knew, yet knew much too well to really love, she mused to herself, “I have nothing to offer you politically. I have no great family connections; actually just the opposite, according to your mother. So why is she so dead set that we get married? Why isn’t she working on you to just dump me? I don’t get it. If it were up to her, we would have the wedding next week, pomp and circumstance aside, she has said repeatedly she just wants the wedding over with. Why?”
Standing up and handing Hope his empty glass, Michael said, “I guess we better get going. With traffic, we have at least an hour’s drive in front of us.”
Hope took the glass but did not move right away. There never was a good time to question Michael, especially just before he was expected to do something he did not want to do. Since there never was a good time, Hope decided to ask. “Michael, why do you want to marry me?”
“Hope, don’t be stupid. Get your coat or we will be late,” was his only retort.
Standing her ground, Hope demanded, “Michael, do you even love me?”
Angered at being questioned like this, he stormed over to the door, opened it, and said with his ‘I am serious’ voice, “Hope, I’m here, aren’t I? I’m taking you to an event as my significant other, an event with the most important people I know. What does that tell you?”
“Actually, Michael, it does not tell me very much. The fact that you did not say you want to marry me because you love me is rather a big deal to me,” countered Hope. “As I come to think of it, I cannot even remember one time when you actually said you loved me.”
“Now you really are being stupid, Hope. We have been engaged for over a year and we are getting married in the spring. I am making you Mrs. Michael Gundersol, a position most women would die for, and what do I get instead? You walk out on me during the holidays with no way to reach you and I am not supposed to question your loyalty, but you can question mine?
“My mother, father, and I have accepted you as my future wife, even though you continue to disrespect my mother’s advice and have taken off three times now, visiting people who can do you nothing but harm. My father has had to call in some pretty big favors in order to keep your birth mother’s legal problems out of the local press. Don’t you understand that we cannot afford to be connected to such people and yet you refuse to cooperate in any way? Do you really want to continue this discussion about who it is that is really being the disloyal one in this relationship?” Seeing that familiar look of wilting come over Hope, he knew she was again beginning to surrender her will to his and closed with, “Hope, I know you have always felt less than whole because you were adopted. I understand that you don’t feel worthy of someone like me loving you and so you always need extra reassurances. Hope, you need to understand that your lack of self-confidence can be tedious and makes you a little too needy sometimes. You do need to work on that, but right now we need to get going. Go get your coat on and meet me at the car.”
Hope stood there trying to figure out what just happened. Again, he had taken a challenge directed at him and turned it into an indictment of her, using her self-doubt because of her adoption. Adjusting her coat collar as she looked in the mirror, Hope asked, “Am I really that broken? Am I truly so needy that I demand constant reassurances from him and that this neediness is what is making him withdraw from me?” One quick beep of his horn signaled she was taking too long, so Hope grabbed her purse, checked for her house key, closed the door behind her and determined, “I need to be less needy tonight; I’m just not so sure how to go about it.”
The hour long drive to the Los Angeles Marriott was quiet. Michael reviewed his canned speech several times before turning on the radio, trying to avoid a repeat of their earlier conversation. As they pulled into the underground parking garage, he slid a placard with his name on it up into the corner of his windshield so the parking attendant would see that he was entitled to VIP parking. Directed to the second level parking garage, he pulled his car into the empty space right next to his parents’ Mercedes. Seeing a photographer standing by the elevator, Michael hurried around the car, opened Hope’s door, and helped her out. He then whispered quietly in her ear, “I’m sorry about our conversation earlier, Hope. You know I love you, don’t you?” Michael knew the photographer was sliding around the support post to get a better shot. Knowing this photo would make it into the morning column, he waited until the guy was in place to plant his kiss.
Unaware of this, Hope took his action as sincere and enjoyed this infrequent show of affection from him and allowed him to guide her toward the elevator. Tonight she was not going to question his motives. She was not going to drive them both crazy with questions and demand reassurances. She knew she needed to grow up and stop all this second guessing.
The evening went as smoothly as could be expected, considering Mrs. Gundersol would never air her dirty laundry in public. Although honey was dripping from her lips, ice would not melt on her tongue. Hope had become accustomed to this type of behavior from her, but still it always stung. Her job tonight was merely to sit there quietly, sharing no opinions and drawing as little attention as possible. She was simply Michael’s significant other tonight, although she never felt very significant at these affairs. Other than when photos were being taken, he was scarcely around. She tried walking the room with him but found it mind-numbing. After Michael had answered the same question ten times, she found herself mimicking his pat answers in her head, then considering how she would have answered that same question, only with a real sense of purpose, something that was always missing in his answers. Eventually, Hope found herself sitting back at the table playing with her coffee cup, hoping her watch was just broken. Michael seldom stayed long at these events, but tonight felt endless and she just wanted to go home.
Tired of waiting, Hope grabbed her purse and headed for the ladies room to freshen up her lipstick, anything to fill the time. She had just finished washing her hands when a rather strange thing happened. A woman who followed her into the ladies room had taken a seat by the window and just stared at her as she applied her lipstick. By her attire, Hope reasoned the woman had not come from the event, and she obviously did not work at the Marriott either. Hope tried to ignore her and go about her business, but she could feel this woman’s cold stare boring into her. Trying to get a quick glimpse of her in the mirror, Hope wondered, “Could she be a reporter? I need to be careful. Michael is always warning me to be careful of their tricks and not to say anything that can be taken out of context.” Hope finally slipped her lipstick back into her purse and started for the door, which was right beside this woman. Trying to appear casual, Hope nodded her head and smiled as she said, “Good evening.”
Never changing her expression, the woman muttered something under her breath. It was obvious that she did not care to hide her disgust, which made Hope just a little bit more than nervous. People have strange ideas about people in the public eye, even those who are just bystanders, as she was. Hope slipped by the woman quickly and made her way back to the ballroom where she would feel safe—albeit bored. By the time Michael was finally ready to leave, the woman’s behavior was forgotten so Hope did not mention it to him on their way home.